A Funny Thing Happened One Summer Day...
by Rebecca2
Summary: My summer vacation is interrupted by the sudden appearance of my favorite character from Newsies. Can I get him back to where he belongs before he discovers that he's a character in a popular movie? Do I even want to?
1. How I Spent My Summer Vacation...

Okay, I beg you to humor me for this one fanfic, which is pure indulgence on my part of a fantasy I'm sure most of you readers and authors have had in one variation or another. I hope this isn't too much like anyone else's "when I met my favorite Newsie character" story (I haven't read any, so I don't know). I'm hoping to make mine as intelligent and non-cheesy as I can, so bear with me. The character and circumstances surrounding the story (such as my parents being gone for 2 weeks) are all based on me, although the obvious fantasy elements are products of my overactive imagination.  
  
Disclaimer: Mush *sniff* does not belong to me. He belongs to Disney (selfish bastards!) and though I know that if they were to give him to me for safekeeping I'd do a great job of it, I have a feeling Disney probably wouldn't be willing to hand him over. So here goes...  
  
  
**Chapter One: How I Spent My Summer Vacation...**  
  
Ten o'clock in the morning, my parents have only been out of town less than 36 hours, and already the house is a mess. Mail and newspapers litter the living room coffee table, half of my piano music is lying in a pile on the floor by the piano bench, dishes and empty Lean Cuisine boxes cover the kitchen table, and video boxes form a precarious barrier around the TV in the family room. How could this much junk have possibly accumulated in two days? Am I really that messy? If the house already looks this bad, what will it look like in two weeks when my parents return from Maui?  
  
I take a deep breath and begin loading the dishwasher. Once the plates and silverware are put away, the kitchen doesn't look nearly as bad as it did before, although I have a feeling the overflowing recycling and trash cans will probably want to be emptied pretty soon. I have always had a hard time admitting to myself that I am perpetually lazy and prone to procrastination, but when it comes down to it, cleaning and staying organized are definitely not talents of mine.  
  
After I'm done tidying up the kitchen, I feel a break is in order, and I cross over to the family room to the leaning tower of videos. _Gladiator_, _Singing' in the Rain, The Wedding Singer, _and _North By Northwest,_ along with half a dozen others, are all out of their boxes on the floor, some only halfway rewound. I, however, just grab the remote and switch on the movie that is already in the VCR. The movie I watched last night, earlier yesterday afternoon, and will probably watch again later tonight...  
  
Who would have thought that a 19-year-old college student studying music history, whose favorite movie is _Casablanca,_ would develop such an obsessive fixation with the movie _Newsies?_ I surely didn't. I hadn't even thought of the movie in years when, my parents out of the house and my friends busy with work, I was rummaging through the closet full of movies in the computer room and my eyes fell on _Newsies._ Now, my friends roll their eyes at me every time I mention the film or try to coerce them into watching it with me. They just don't appreciate the thrill of watching dozens of cute boys in turn of the century clothes sing and dance their way across the streets of New York.  
  
"It's not that they're even _that_ cute," I had explained to my best friend Erin, who merely shook her head resignedly, "but there are so many of them!"  
  
So it seemed from the start that I would be cursed to spend the entirety of my parentless two weeks alone in my house, watching _Newsies_ with my dog Peg, wishing sadly that adorable Mush had more screentime. As I fast forward through the previews (wow, who actually remembers _Encino Man?_), I make a mental note not to mention this part of my summer vacation to my college friends when I return to school in the fall.  
  
********************  
  
Okay, it's one o'clock in the morning and time to go to bed. I do, after all, have a piano lesson in the morning and I don't know how well I'll be able to play Schubert if I'm half asleep. After pulling out my contacts, washing face and brushing my teeth (and nearly forgetting to floss) I pull on my Victoria's Secret pajamas and fall into bed, barely remembering to set the alarm clock for nine the next morning. Peg is curled up at my feet, grunting occasionally and shuffling around. I'm just nodding off when all of a sudden, a piercing bark shatters the silence of my room and my dog is scampering toward the edge of the bed, growling frantically at the open window.  
  
"Peg," I mutter, hoping against hope that my CD player will spontaneously fall on her and knock her out, "shut up! There's nothing outside." With my parents out of town, unfortunately, I am the one who has to put up with the obnoxious lhasa apso who manages sleep all day long, and yet can't last through the night without finding some imaginary threat on the hillside to bark at. Peg, as suspected, will not be quiet, and pretty soon I understand why. Now even I can hear movement in the open space right outside my window. It is definitely too big to be a racoon or a cat.  
  
"It's just a coyote," I tell Peg, nudging her roughly with my foot. She grunts and paces the foot of the bed restlessly, and finally settles down to sleep again. The noise on the hill has subsided, and my last thoughts before I drift off are that I don't know how long my dog is going to survive these two weeks before I strangle her...  
  
********************  
  
I am awoken the following morning before the alarm goes off by an incessant scratching at my door. I try to ignore it as long as I can, but finally, with a groan of annoyance, I drag myself out of bed and open the door to let out Peg, who flies down the stairs toward the back door. I follow her much more slowly, fumbling with my glasses and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. When I reach the back door and pull open the blinds, I barely even have time to register the sight that greets me on the other side of the sliding glass door before Peg lunges at it, barking furiously at the stranger who is standing, a shocked look on his face, on the other side.  
  
"AUGHHHHHHHH!" I scream when I've found my voice, and the boy outside does the same. He turns to run, slips on the garden hose, and tumbles to the ground. Meanwhile, I have grabbed the fireplace poker and the cordless phone, pulled open the door, and dash outside before he can get away.  
  
"Don't hurt me, please!" he begs, shielding his face from me and clutching his leg. "I didn't mean any harm!"  
  
"What the hell do you mean, no harm?" I scream, brandishing the poker at his cringing figure. Peg charges out of the house and begins growling and sniffing the now terrified intruder. "What do you mean by skulking around my house and scaring me half to death? What are you doing in my back yard? Who are you? You'd better start talking or I'll call the police!"  
  
"I don't know what I'm doing here," he insists desperately, scuttling away from the enthusiastic growling of my dog and still hiding his face. "I don't even know where I am or how I got here, please believe me!"  
  
Suddenly I stop waving the poker and stare at the boy crouching on the ground. Something about him looks oddly familiar. I still can't see his entire face, but there is something about his curly brown hair, olive complexion, and odd clothes that makes me think of...  
  
"Mush?" I gasp. The weapon falls from my hands with a loud clang. The boy doesn't appear to have heard me speak, but he looks up at the sound of the falling poker. No, I think to myself, it can't be! I have totally lost my mind. I'm a nutcase, being by myself for two days and watching nothing but _Newsies_ has caused me to completely lose it. And yet, this all seems so real.  
  
"Who are you?" I say again, my voice shaking, afraid to hear the answer.  
  
He stands hesistantly, brushes off his brown cut off pants, and reaches out as if to shake my hand. "Me name is Mush," he says. I stare in shock. I've lost my mind.


	2. Mush Van Winkle?

**Chapter Two: Mush Van Winkle?**  
  
"So, tell me exactly what happened." Mush and I are sitting at the kitchen table, me brewing a strong pot of tea to settle my nerves, and Mush looking around nervously at the microwave and espresso machine. After having revealed his name, he and I stood staring at each other dumbfounded for several seconds before I realized that I was wearing nothing but a thin, see-through camisole and lightweight cotton pajama bottoms, and I ran upstairs to change. When I returned, Mush had been staring in wide-eyed fascination at the overhead track lights in the family room, turning the lights on and off repeatedly until he had fully grasped the concept of the light switch. I finally introduced myself to my guest, and we got down to the business at hand.  
  
"Well," he begins carefully, "I went ta' sleep last night in my bunk like always, and woke up on yer hill. I didn't know where I was or nothin', an' it was dark, so I climbed down here inta' yer yard and fell asleep on that chair out back." He indicates the sideyard and I realize he must mean the lawn chair. "When I woke up agin', I came aroun' heah to see if I could get inside, and there you was."  
  
"So that 'coyote' Peg was barking at last night must have been you," I mutter under my breath. Mush looks at me intently. Ever since I had appeared at the door wearing my pajamas, he seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes any higher than chest level, and I have a feeling he must find the rest of my clothes odd as well.  
  
"So what is this, you some kinda witch o' somethin'?" he asks suddenly, catching me by surprise. He looks tense, but brave, and I can hardly suppress a giggle.  
  
"What makes you think I'm a witch?"  
  
"All this stuff youse got heah! Lights that toin on and off like magic, a pot that boils wata' in minutes, and yer clothes ain't exactly normal or nothin'." He is trying to look as stoic as possible, although I notice he unconsciously grips the table as I take a step nearer.  
  
"Mush, I promise you that I'm not a witch." He shoulders relax, although he doesn't look any more relieved. "I, well, this may sound strange, but, what year was it yesterday when you went to sleep?"  
  
"1899," he responds instantly, paling slightly. "Why, why you askin' me that? What yeah is it, er, today?"  
  
"Er, well," I automatically look up at the calender on the wall by the phone, another object that Mush has been eying suspiciously ever since I threatened him with it outside. He follows my gaze and walks slowly to the calender, looking almost afraid to see what he might find. I see his eyes study the page, which reads July, 2001. His lips form the words, and I can almost envision the wheels turning in his brain.  
  
"2001?" he says weakly. "But that's...that's impossible!"  
  
"I know," I whisper, and we share an incredulous look. But, I think to myself, stealing a glance at an empty pink video box lying by the television set, Mush only knows the half of it...  
  
********************  
  
At 10:20, I suddenly notice the time and realize with a start that my piano lesson is starting in ten minutes. After Mush had realized that he had somehow managed to travel over 100 years into the future, it took another strong cup of tea to overcome his shock and another couple of minutes to get him talking again. For the next two hours, we sat talking about the sheer impossibility of the situation in which we found ourselves, and ended up pinching each other to make sure we weren't dreaming until our arms were sore. I am fairly certain that Mush now no longer believes that I am a witch. But now I'm running out the door with my piano music (after quietly grabbing the _Newsies_ video and box and stashing it under the couch where Mush won't find it), telling Mush to sit tight while I'm gone, and hoping that he won't get into too much trouble. Surprisingly, I'm handling the situation quite well, although I don't really know how else one would act in my shoes. Run around screaming until someone locks me in a mental institution? Call the tabloids? Go back to bed and hope that when I wake up everything's back to normal?  
  
It's going to be an awfully weird day. Yesterday, I had been sitting watching _Newsies_ with a dreamy expression on my face, wishing that Mush were real. Now here I am, with a real live 'Mush' waiting for me in my house, probably playing with the lightswitches so much that the wires will short circuit.  
  
I should be happy. No, I should be ecstatic! All my life I've wished for something exciting like this to happen. And now that it has, all I can think about is how crazy the whole situation is. How did Mush, a character in a nine-year-old Disney movie, magically appear in my backyard? How can he be real if a now 25-year-old actor named Aaron Lohr played him in the movie? How can he be sitting in my kitchen if last night he was dancing on my television screen?  
  
Oh yes, it's going to be a weird day.  
  
********************  
  
I manage to leave my lesson in record time today, resisting the urge to stay and chat with my teacher like I always do. But, I tell her as I run out the door, I have business to take care off. Three minutes later I'm pulling into the driveway and running into the house, imagining possible horror scenes that might greet me. But the house is surprisingly quiet, and when I reach the kitchen, Mush is still there, sloppily making himself a peanut butter sandwich. He has trouble getting the top of the peanut butter jar back on, so I help him and then put the dirty utensils in the dishwasher. Earlier that morning I had explained to him what many of the contraptions in the room were, but Mush seemed to find the dishwasher particularly sketchy, and he still keeps a healthy distance away from it.  
  
"So whadda we gonna do?" he asks as we sit down once again at the table. "I mean I can't jus' stay heah."  
  
"I know, but how am I supposed to get you back to your own time? I don't even know how you got here!" I guilty feeling arises in my chest. I still haven't told Mush, who seems to believe that he is as real as I am, that he is a character in my favorite movie. What would he think if he found out that his life isn't real? Because it isn't, is it?  
  
"Well," I continue, "there really isn't anything we can do at the present, so we'll just have to wait and see what happens. In the meantime, you can stay here. My parents are gone for the next two weeks, so no one will give you any problems about being here."  
  
"Well, okay," Mush says uncertainly, and we shake on it (without, I add, spitting into our palms). "But how am I, you know, gonna fit in heah? I don't know nothin' about California or the yeah 2001."  
  
"That's where I come in," I say, smiling. I glance down at Mush's outfit: a dirty white long sleeved undershirt, brown pants cut off below the knees, and worn brown boots tied with unraveling (and unmatching) laces. I try to ignore the fact that he has incredibly nice legs. "First of all, if you're going to fit in, we'll have to get you some new clothes. No one will believe that you're from around here if you go out dressed like that."  
  
"What's wrong wid my clothes?" he cries, sounding offended.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with them!" I insist. "They're just...not what guys wear these days. You're probably...how old are you?"  
  
"Sixteen," he replies. Dammit, I think, too young. Oh well.  
  
"I think I know the place to go," I say with a smile. Mush looks completely petrified. It's surprisingly cute.  
  
********************  
  
It occurs to me as we leave the house and enter the garage that if the electric water boiler made Mush nervous, a car ride downtown could frighten him to death. I'm sure he has never travelled at any significant speed before, and if we take the freeway, he could very well have a stroke. I silently tell myself to stick to city streets and not speed. Mush has seen few automobiles before, seeing as the very first "horseless carriages" appeared around 1897. But he has never ridden in one before, and he has trouble believing that the sleek silver Ford Escort into which he staunchly refuses to go can even be related to the Oldsmobile he once saw the Mayor of New York City drive down the street. Finally I persuade him that my car is perfectly safe (okay, slight exaggeration) and prepare to pull slowly and gently out of the garage, when Mush discovers a small, silver object on the floor by his feet.  
  
"What's this?" he asks curiously.  
  
"Oh, that's a discman," I say absently. "It plays CD's."  
  
"Seedies?" he says incredulously. "What's a 'seedy'?"  
  
"CD's, compact discs," I explain. "They play music." Mush eyes the discman doubtfully, shakes it, and holds it up to his ear. When nothing happens, he shrugs his shoulders and tosses it back on the floor. Again I stifle a giggle. He is awfully cute, in a clueless sort of way.  
  
When the car has been turned on, something that I had overlooked occurs, and Mush lets out a piercing shriek as loud music suddenly fills the car. He looks around wildly, trying to figure out where the raucous noise is coming from.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"It's Duran Duran," I say nonchalantly, lowering the volume and starting to sing along to "Hungry Like the Wolf." As we make our way out of the driveway and up my street, Mush holding onto his seat for dear life, I think to myself, I can definitely get used to having this boy around.


	3. In Which I Play Dress Up with Mush

Sorry it's taken me a couple of days to update. My aunt and cousin from Oregon spent the night last night on their way down to Disneyland (hey, do you think they'll make it in the story? I think they just might!) and what with work and such, I have very little time to do fun things such as write this delightful story. Plus, hey, I do have a life! Oh wait a minute....  
  
Oh and another thing: To whoever mentioned in a review that there was a real Mush Meyers, I know that. But the real Mush Meyers would not have looked exactly like Mush from the movie, so I wouldn't have recognized him, would I have? In my story, Mush is the character from the movie, _not_ the actual person. You will learn later why I chose to do it this way :)  
  
  
**Chapter Three: In Which I Play Dress Up with Mush  
  
**We make it downtown pretty uneventfully, although Mush jumps every time another car, motorcycle, or pretty much anything large comes into view. I think he's starting to like Madonna, because when "Like a Virgin" came on, I couldn't help but notice his foot tapping to the beat.  
  
Once we park and enter the outdoor mall, however, it's a whole new ball game we're playing. Mush's eyes become so wide, I swear they might jump out of their sockets, and I'm afraid he might get whiplash from how many times he has done doubles take as girls wearing short skirts pass by.  
  
"Are they prostitutes?" he asks in a hushed voice, staring at a blonde wearing a strapless pink dress and four inch high platforms.  
  
"No," I say, "they're teenagers."  
  
"But," he sputters, as a whole group of girls walk by, giggling behind their hands at Mush's clothes and dumbstruck expression, "you don't dress like that!"  
  
I manage to tear Mush away from the teenyboppers and lead him toward the only place I can think of that might sell suitable clothes for him.  
  
"Gap?" he says doubtfully, looking at the super-preppy mannequins in the window. We enter the store, and the front greeter gives us an odd look instead of the usual, "Hi, how are you doing today?" Maybe I should have made Mush take a shower before we came here.  
  
It almost takes as long for Mush to find clothes as it does when I shop for clothes. He soon overcomes his apprehension and tries on with relish as many outfits as he can, until I tell him that if doesn't choose something soon we might get kicked out for making a mess in the fitting rooms. He seems to like Gap's leather clothes a great deal, and looks longingly at a leather jacket at whose price he nearly fainted when he read it. Finally he chooses a pair of khaki shorts, jeans, and some nondescript looking shirts. He seems reluctant once he realizes that I will be paying for all of these clothes, but I assure him that due to inflation, money is worth much less today than it was in 1899. Plus, I say, people will think he's a freak if he continues to dress the way he does.  
  
With his new clothes, Mush attracts much less attention, but he still ogles every skin-showing girl who passes our way. Finally I tell him that if he doesn't stop it he might get arrested, and from then on his eyes look straight ahead of him. We stop at Foot Locker and buy Mush two pairs of shoes and some socks, and, laden with bags, sit down at the fountain at the center of the mall to collect ourselves.  
  
"Okay, now you look like 21st century guy," I say as Mush bravely inspects a payphone, finds it to be safe, and sits down next to me, "but you're still not acting like one."  
  
"Well hows am I s'posed to act when I ain't nevah hoid o' anythin' people are talkin' about? What am I s'posed to do if someone talks ta me?"  
  
"Well, first of all," I begin, "we need to work on your English."  
  
"Whassamatta with the way I talk?" he asks defensively. I take a deep breath.  
  
"People will wonder where you're from and ask questions if you continue to talk the way you do. You'll attract less attention if you talk more...normally. Just try to sound like me. It's 'work' not 'woik', 'never' not 'nevah', 'heard' not 'hoid', and 'haven't ever' not 'ain't nevah'. Got it?"  
  
We practice working on Mush's English for about a half an hour until both of us have headaches and we're both more than a little irritable. To make up for the grueling English lesson, I take Mush to get a treat. He practices his new, relatively correct English at Starbucks, and manages to order himself a caramel frappuccino. After we have paid and collected our drinks, he is in a much better mood, and we take a stroll around the plaza. I point out various unfamiliar sights as we walk, such as the skateboard, the laptop computer (this requires a lengthy, complicated explanation of which Mush soon bores), and we even saw a guy with a mullet, about which Mush agrees with me that the 20th century introduced some scary things to the world.  
  
We wander downtown for nearly two hours, talking and joking, having a good time, and nearly forgetting that only a few hours ago I had been waving a poker frantically at Mush while he cowered on the ground. Now that he has gone for a car ride, shopped at Gap and Starbucks, and seen his first mullet, Mush is much better at getting used to new things, and he barely even flinches when we get honked at while jaywalking across the street. Or maybe he's just too terrified to say anything...  
  
But as I learn more about my young friend, I discover that, despite his obvious trauma at being flung one hundred years in the future, he is cheerful, ever-optimistic, and funny, although some of his jokes even I have to admit are pretty stupid. He tells me about his life as a newsie in Manhattan. When he talks about his friends, a wistful tone creeps into his voice, and when he mentions Jack, his voice is almost reverent. I can tell that his regard for Jack borders on idolization.  
  
"...so I says to him, 'How'd ya sleep, Jack?' And he says, 'On me back Mush!'" Mush bursts into enthusiastic laughter, and hardly notices the serious look that appears on my face.  
  
"When did Jack say that?" I ask, trying not to sound concerned.  
  
"Actually, he said that the day I left," Mush says, his voice suddenly dropping in volume and energy. When look over at his face, I see tears forming in his eyes, and he immediately looks away. I pretend not to have seen, but I reach out and squeeze his hand gently.  
  
"Don't worry, Mush," I say quietly. "We'll get you back where you belong." He smiles and nods, but I have a feeling neither of us truly believes it.  
  
********************  
  
Once we have tired of wandering around downtown, we return home, and Mush takes a shower. While he is busy in the bathroom (I can hear occasional screams of pain as he fiddles with the water temperature) I sit in the family room and, _Newsies_ video in hand, ponder my situation. So the last thing that happened to Mush before he arrived in my back yard was, basically, the first day of the movie. He has met David and Les, and he has no idea that the next morning, Joseph Pulitzer will announce an increase in the distribution price of papers. He is still blissfully ignorant of the sketchy state of his existence.  
  
What should I do? Do I show him the video? Watch him freak out as he sees his life played before him in the glory of a Disney musical? I can't possibly do that. Or maybe I should take him to a psychologist and see if he really is who he says he is--it hadn't even occurred to me before, but he could be lying. Maybe he's just some die hard, nutjob fan who thinks he's part of the film. But then I remember the look on his face and the tears that formed in his eyes when he mentioned his friends, friends he may never see again. And no one, no matter how good of an actor, could do such a good job of pretending never to have encountered a dishwasher before. No, it's no use. Mush is whom he says he is. Or at least, he is whom he believes he is.  
  
But really, I'm just avoiding asking myself the most important question: how am I going to get Mush back where he belongs? During the one year of physics I took in high school, no where did I ever read anything about movie characters spontaneously coming to life and wreaking havoc in ordinary peoples' lives. This is seriously like something out of a Woody Allen movie! What would Woody Allen do in my situation, I ask myself? Probably have a nervous breakdown and find an 18-year-old prostitute, comes the answer. So this line of thought is not helping at all. Suddenly I realize that the water has been turned off upstairs and Mush must be getting out of the shower. I hurriedly shove the video box under the couch. I still haven't decided whether or not I'll eventually show Mush the movie, but one thing's for certain: if Mush isn't crazy and I'm not crazy (which, admittedly, is not indisputable), the answer to our problems must lie in one form or another with the people who first brought Mush into existence--Disney.  
  
  
Short chapter, I know, but I really need to work on "Blink and You're Gone," my non-ridiculous work-in-progress. Yes, believe it or not, this is the ridiculous one. You probably already knew that though, so thanks for reading and indulging me in my silly fantasies :)


	4. In Which Mush Showers and Sings

OH HAPPY DAY! The picture on my author profile is FINALLY working after like 3 weeks of pending approval. Thank you kind reviewers Kathryn O'Brien, DreamSock, Script, Jax, Blink's Chick, Amethyst, angel, and Kora! You guys rule, and I'm glad other people find mullets to be as funny as I do. My feeling is, when in doubt, just mention mullets. Works every time. There actually aren't many mullets to speak of in my town, although I saw 3 at Benihana's the other night. Scary. Anyhoo, I'm so happy people are actually reading this story because I'm having sooo much fun writing it. It's great making myself into a much more interesting person than I really am :)  
  
  
**Chapter Four: In Which Mush Showers and Sings "Like a Prayer"  
  
**When Mush has emerged from the shower and returns downstairs wearing his new khaki pants and an unbuttoned blue shirt (damn tease), I am able to get a good look at him for the first time. With the grime and dirt washed off his face, I see that he has clear, olive colored skin and even white teeth, which has got to be the first hint that this "newsie" did not come from the true turn of the 20th century (well, there's Disney for you). He is awfully cute, and I blush when I realize that I have been staring. Oops. Damn his cute little six-pack.  
  
"That's some interestin' stuff you gave me to wash my hair with," he says, running his fingers through his curly brown hair. I smile, hoping that Mush enjoyed his 'organic experience.' "Smells good. So what now?" he asks playfully as he plops down on the other sofa and begins to button up his shirt. He has been attempting to talk in, as he calls it, my "hoity-toity" accent all afternoon, resulting in something that Henry Higgans undoubtedly would have given an eye to study.  
  
"Well, I suppose we should talk about what is going to be happening for the next couple of days," I respond, fiddling with the TV remote control. "I don't know how long you're going to be here, so you'll have to get familiar with the house and how things work around here."  
  
"But you'll be here too, right?" Mush says hopefully.  
  
"Well I work three days a week," I say. "I babysit two girls who live across town from 7:30 in the morning to around 5 in the evening, so you'll be on your own most of the day."  
  
"On my own!" Mush cries, looking terrified. "What am I supposed to do for...well, howevah long dat is? What if sumpthin' happens and I don't know what I'm s'posed to do?"  
  
"Don't panic, Mush, it'll be okay! You'll always be able to reach me on my cell phone if something happens," I say soothingly. Mush looks slightly less distressed. He is awfully wary of anything electronic, especially if it is portable. "You can always take the bus to go downtown if you get bored, and I'll teach you how to use the television so you can watch movies and shows." He eyes the TV distrustfully, but he accepts the remote control that I place in his hand. I have already explained to him the concept of television and movies, and though he finds the whole idea awfully sketchy, he is soon fascinated by watching real people move and talk on a screen and all reservations are left behind. Pretty soon he has been completely entranced by _Days of Our Lives_ and I am just about to show him how to watch movies when the phone rings.  
  
"GAAHHH!" Mush screams, falling face first off the couch and onto the floor. "What da hell was dat??"  
  
"Oh, honestly Mush," I say evenly, making my way toward the kitchen. "I'll never understand this fear of phones you seem to have. I mean, it's not like you've never seen one before!" Mush mutters something about the phones he is used to being nothing like my phone and I think I catch the word 'demonic' in what he is saying, but I ignore him and pick up the receiver, saying, "Hello?"  
  
"Hi, is Rebecca there?" says a cheerful, familiar voice.  
  
"Holly! What's going on?" I say, happy to hear from an old high school friend. Holly, a fellow member of the alto section in the Madrigal Choir back during my senior year of high school, graduated this year, and was one of my favorite people at school.  
  
"Well I'm having my birthday party next Wednesday and you have to come," she gushes in her usual Holly excitement. "It's going to be at Benihana's and we're going to do karaoke!"  
  
"Oh lord," I say, laughing. "Of course I'll come!" Then a thought hits me. Mush! What if he's still around by then? I can't just leave him. But should I really take him? "Um, Holly? Do you think it would be all right if I took someone with me to the party. It's just that my, uh, cousin is visiting me and I don't think it would be very nice if I just left him at home all evening."  
  
"Did you say 'he'? Duh, of course 'he' can come! Is he cute?"  
  
"He's a little young for you Holly," I say laughing. Holly has a thing for older guys. She tells me the details of the party and we hang up. I return to the family room to witness Mush, who still has not quite completely grasped the idea of the remote control, crouching in front of the television, pressing the remote control against the screen and crying out in despair as the channel stubbornly refuses to change.  
  
"You have to change it from 'TV' to 'cable'," I say gently, plucking the remote out of his hands and showing him the proper way to change the channels.  
  
"Who called?" he asks.  
  
"My friend Holly," I say. "She invited me to her birthday party and she said you could come."  
  
"Me? Go to a boithday, uhh, _berrth_day party, wit'chu and your friends? What if I do sumpthin' dumb?"  
  
"Don't worry," I say, popping _Gladiator_ into the VCR, "we have almost a week until the party. You'll have learned the ropes by then." Mush is suddenly very quiet. "Or, maybe we'll have already figured out how to get you home by then, and you won't have to worry about it at all," I add lightly.  
  
"Yeah, maybe," Mush murmurs at the screen, then turns to me and gives me an impish smile. "But until then we can have fun, huh?"  
  
"Definitely," I say with a grin. "Now I'm going to put on a movie..."  
  
********************  
  
By 6 in the evening, Mush and I have gone over nearly every source of entertainment to be found in my house: television with VCR downstairs (my decision to introduce modern movies to him through the movie _Gladiator_ probably wasn't the best decision I have ever made, as he completely freaked out the first time someone's head got chopped off and I had to keep reminding him that it wasn't real), DVD player upstairs, CD player with radio in my room (he has taken a great interest in my 5 CD collection of 80's hits, which may or may not end up being a good thing), computer, books (I show him some good ones he won't have too much trouble with, considering his limited education), bus schedules that can take him downtown, as well as what food we have that he can eat. We find that we actually don't have a great deal of food in the house, so we get back in the car and head toward Safeway. Mush fiddles with the radio stations until he hears something familiar.  
  
"Hey, wasn't we listenin' to this earlier?" he asks.  
  
"Yeah, it's Madonna," I say, choosing to ignore the grammatical error. "_Like a Prayer."_ With a mischievous glance at my passenger, I roll down both the windows, crank up the volume, and begin singing along as we speed through a residential neighborhood. Mush laughs, and, to my surprise, starts singing along. By the time we have arrived at the supermarket, he knows nearly all the words. I suppose he catches on quickly because he comes from a world where people regularly break out spontaneously into song and dance.  
  
Once inside, Mush's eyes grow wider than I've yet seen them as he gazes upon aisles and aisles of food, more food than he's probably seen in a lifetime. I grab a shopping cart and we walk down every aisle. Mush is dying to try Lucky Charms cereal, but I persuade him against it, instead choosing Honey Bunches of Oats.  
  
"How come I can't have the colorful kind?" he mutters under his breath. A mother with two little boys who are fighting over the cart seat overhears him, and she and I smile at each other, rolling our eyes and sharing a silent laugh. Soon we are on our way out of the store with a cart full of groceries, and we return home.  
  
Almost as soon as the groceries have been put away, I realize just how exhausted I am, and with one look at Mush I can tell he is tired too. I set him up in the extra bedroom, which doesn't have a bedframe, but it does have a mattress (my mother is awfully strange). Just as I am about to wish my guest a good night and retire to my own room, Mush says, "Wait."  
  
I stop and turn around. He is sitting on his mattress, back in his familiar cut-off trousers in which he had arrived only this morning, suspenders hanging around his waist. He gives me a half-smile and says, "Thanks."  
  
With a smile, I say, "Get some sleep, Mush," and I leave, shutting the door behind me. A horrible, guilty feeling is plaguing my stomach. I feel like I'm lying to Mush by not telling him the truth. But is this one of those cases in which a white lie is preferable to the truth? I lie in bed for hours with this thought on my mind, until sleepiness finally overcomes my worries and I fall into a restless sleep.  
  
  
  



	5. Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi ce Soir?

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I think this one is my favorite so far. I had lots o' fun writing it, but that could just be because it's about me and I find myself very amusing.  
  
  
**Chapter Five: Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi ce Soir?**  
  
I awake the next morning at around ten with an odd feeling in my stomach, like I've forgotten something very important. At once I remember the strange predicament involving my movie-land guest, quickly shower and dress, and descend the stairs, following the sound of cartoons. When I enter the family room, the first thing I see are two tanned, bare legs in the air, and upon closer inspection I see that Mush is lying on his stomach in front of the television, his rapt gaze fixed on the Powerpuff Girls.  
  
"I see you've gotten the hang of the TV," I say wryly. Mush jumps up, startled, and blushes, switching off the television.  
  
"I just wanted to see what's on," he explained, following me into the kitchen where I starting making myself cheese blintzes. "Dat thing's amazing!" Mush begins mulling around the kitchen, looking meaningfully at the closet until I realize that I am going to have to make him breakfast. Boys are so unbelievably lazy. We chat while I fix Mush some scrambled eggs and cereal (he's still bugging me about Lucky Charms) and he starts asking me questions about myself.  
  
"Well," I begin hesitantly, not sure where to begin, "I just finished my first year of college..."  
  
"You go to a college?" he asks, surprised.  
  
"Yeah, what about it?"  
  
"Well, nothin," he says, playing with the table cloth, "I just didn't think most girls went to college. I mean, shouldn't you be lookin' for a husband or somethin' like dat?"  
  
The ominous glare I give Mush sends the message that any number of words could have expressed, and he mutters something about not meaning any offense, but I disregard him and continue.  
  
"I go to college," I say again with much emphasis, "in Ohio, but I grew up here in California. I study music and classics," I notice his confused look and quickly explain, "which is the study of ancient Greece and Rome." He doesn't look any less confused, but I figure it really doesn't matter. "I play piano, I like watching movies and listening to classical music..." I trail off, suddenly realizing just how boring my life is. Mush is watching with eyebrows raised, as if waiting for me to continue. But I have nothing more to say.  
  
This awkward pause is broken mercifully by the ringing of the telephone. Mush jumps almost imperceptibly, but I catch it and smirk at him as I walk over and grab the cordless.  
  
"Hello?" I say as Mush seethes.  
  
"Bicca!" comes the voice on the other line.  
  
"Erin! What's up, loser?" I say jokingly to my best friend.  
  
"Omigaw," she gushes, "I haven't seen you in soooo long!"  
  
"I know, it must be...two days!"  
  
"We _have_ to do something today," she says. "Carl was supposed to call me but of course he didn't! Sheesh, what is it with boys?"  
  
I roll my eyes and smile to myself. Erin and Carl, two of my best friends, have been going out all summer and only recently have I begun to learn the details of their relationship. "I don't know why you bother," I say, watching in amusement as Mush continues to wolf down cereal. I swear, the boy is like a trash compactor. "You know I like Carl, but boys are seriously not worth it."  
  
"I know, I know," she says, but I know she doesn't mean it. Carl is her first boyfriend, and unlike me, she hasn't yet learned the horrible truth about boys...  
  
"They all suck," we say at the same time, and then burst out giggling. Mush stops eating for a moment, gives me a funny look, and then continues inhaling his breakfast.  
  
"Look, Erin, there's something I have to talk to you about," I say, taking the phone into the other room and sitting down on the piano bench. "Something very strange happened the other day and, uh," I fumble for the right words. "You're not going to believe it." I begin playing absently on the high register of the piano like I do when I'm nervous.  
  
"Oh my God," she says. "You hooked up with that cute bag boy at Safeway!"  
  
"Oh Erin," I say with a sigh, but I can't help but laugh. This is so like us. "This is a lot more serious than that." Erin stops giggling immediately as I begin to explain in hushed tones so that Mush won't hear me. A couple minutes later, there is silence on the other end of the line as I've finished talking and wait for Erin's response. Finally, it comes.  
  
"You're joking, right?"  
  
Sigh. "No, Erin, I'm not joking. I know this sounds crazy, and I don't understand it either..."  
  
"I knew you were getting way too obsessed with that movie!" she exclaims, suddenly sounding panicked. "I've seen you get obsessions like this before, but I knew this one would go too far! I knew that..."  
  
"My God, calm down, Erin!" I say loudly, and then immediately quiet my voice. "If you're been worrying that something like this would happen, I'd say you're the crazy one." Before she can start protesting, I continue. "Please, you have to help me! I swear to you that somehow, this kid popped out of the movie and ended up in my back yard! I don't know why or how, but it happened."  
  
"But Reb, that's not possible!" she says in a small voice.  
  
"I know it isn't. But it's no use to dwell on that because whether or not it's possible, it happened. I mean, we never thought that a vegetable would be elected president, but do we sit around denying that it happened?" Erin snorts. "Okay, maybe that's not the best analogy. But please, you have to help me," I plead. After a moment, I hear Erin sigh.  
  
"All right," she says. "Do you want me to come over?"  
  
"Yeah, come over whenever you can. We'll figure out something to do with him. It's hard trying to entertain him on my own! Oh, but one thing," I say, moving even farther away from the kitchen. "You can't say ANYTHING about the movie."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"_Because he doesn't know that he's not real!_"  
  
"Wait a minute, are you telling me you're not going to tell him?" Erin asks incredulously.  
  
"Well, obviously if worst comes to worst I'll tell him eventually," I whisper, "but, I mean think about it! How would you feel if someone told you that you weren't a real person? That you were just a character in a children's movie?" A short pause.  
  
"Well, I guess I'd think it sucked."  
  
"Yeah, you'd think it sucked a lot. I can't just say, 'Hey Mush, guess what! You're not a real person!' It would be terrible! I have to see if I can get him back without him knowing the truth."  
  
"Yeah," Erin says doubtfully, "I suppose you're right. But still, it doesn't seem very nice to lie to him."  
  
"I'm not lying!" I say, scandalized. "I'm just...improving the truth!"  
  
********************  
  
"So Mush, is there electricity where, er, _when_ you come from?" Erin asks awkwardly, turning around in the front seat of the car as we drive downtown to face the time-traveler. Being the only guy in the group, Mush is automatically assigned to the back seat.  
  
"Yeah, there is," he replies, "but it's still new. We don't got it at the lodge. Light switches an' telephones, they's, uh, they're for rich people."  
  
"Wow," says Erin. She's taken quite a shine to Mush, and the two of them have been talking nonstop since we left the house. Erin has been my best friend since the beginning of high school, and though sometimes we act as though we are connected telepathically, we look and act as different as night and day. She is a cute, athletic but petite girl with thick, dark blonde hair and light blue eyes, whereas I am a little taller, full-figured with long, dark brown hair, eyes to match, and very fair skin. She tends to be quiet and reserved, whereas I have trouble keeping from saying whatever is on my mind, however inappropriate it may be. "What about cars?" she asks eagerly.  
  
While they talk, I think about my conversation with Erin. It's true that what I'm doing is lying to Mush. I am of a nature that makes it nearly impossible to lie--I'm practically incapable of doing so unless concealment is absolutely imperative. And in this case, I tell myself, the fact that I've been able to hide the truth for so long must be a sign that it is necessary to lie. But it still isn't easy. All I can do is hope that I can get Mush back where he belongs before it becomes necessary to tell him, or before he finds out on his own.  
  
It hadn't occurred to me before now that it is possible that he could find out by accident. He could be recognized by a _Newsies_ fan we pass on the street (hey, they're out there!), or the movie could even come on TV while he's channel surfing. Any number of circumstances could alert him to the truth, and as I pull into a parking spot and begin to think about the throngs of people we're about the see, I am suddenly extremely worried.  
  
But it turns out that my worries have all been for nothing. Like the last time we went downtown, no one seems to give Mush a second thought, and of course people don't exactly tend to walk around talking about a nine-year-old Disney musical. Erin and I take Mush to Nordstroms, where we buy him a pair of sunglasses. While standing in line at Starbucks, Mush continues to ogle long-legged, short skirt wearing teenage girls, who notice him staring and start giggling profusely, shooting him flirty glances.  
  
"When'll goils start dressin' like that?" he asks in an awed voice. "I mean, what year?"  
  
"What, the short skirts?" I say. "Not until the 1960's, I'd say."  
  
"1960's???" he says in disbelief. "But...I'll be dead by then!" A man walking by shoots Mush a very concerned glance, as though Mush had just sprouted a second head. Erin and I both laugh and Mush looks put out, but we continue to wander around the plaza, Erin and I watching out for the occasional cute guy, and Mush trying desperately not to stare at every girl who walks by. When we pass one shop in particular, I stop and point excitedly at the window display.  
  
"Ohhh!" I squeal, "that looks like sooo much fun!" My companions stop and look where I'm pointing.  
  
"Build-a-Bear Woikshop?" Mush asks, obviously confused. "What's this?"  
  
"It's a store where you can make your own teddy bear," Erin explains, but Mush still doesn't understand.  
  
"Teddy bear?" he repeats, completely bewildered.  
  
"Oh of course! He doesn't know what a teddy bear is because they hadn't been invented in 1899!" I say, to both Erin's and Mush's surprise.  
  
"They hadn't?" asks Erin.  
  
"What's a teddy bear?"  
  
"They won't even be invented until Teddy Roosevelt becomes president!" I say, feeling very smart.  
  
"Teddy Roosevelt becomes president?" With a quick smile at each other, Erin and I each take one of Mush's arms and begin to lead him away from the store while we give him a quick history lesson.  
  
********************  
  
Later that evening, Erin, Mush, and I are having such a good time that we decide to go out to a movie. However, choosing a movie proves to be rather difficult.  
  
"What's a good movie that Mush'll understand well enough that we don't have to explain it all to him?" I say as we search through the movie guide.  
  
"How about_ A.I._?" suggests Erin.  
  
"A futuristic robot movie?"  
  
"Oh. Right. Never mind."  
  
"Ooh, _Scary Movie II,_" I say. Erin and I look at each and after a moment, we both burst out laughing. There is no further discussion on the subject. After several more minutes, I have a stroke of genius.  
  
"How about _Moulin Rouge_!" Erin looks skeptical.  
  
"But it has modern music," she says.  
  
"That doesn't matter, Mush has listened to lots of music. And it takes place in 1899! That's perfect!" Finally we agree and a half an hour later we are back in the car and driving towards the movie theatre. It turns out to have been a pretty good choice. Mush enjoys the movie a lot, especially the songs. I have to admit, however, that while Erin was worried that he wouldn't know the songs, I didn't know many of them myself. And, I think to myself as we exit the theatre, this version of 1899 is probably much closer to the squeaky-clean, fantastical Disney 1899 in _Newsies_ than any realistic movie taking place in the same time period.  
  
We are all exhausted by the time we get home, even Mush, though he won't stop singing "Roxanne".  
  
"How does he memorize songs so quickly?" Erin asks in amazement as Mush and I stumble out of the car upon reaching my house. I shrug, not about to mention anything about musicals while he is around. We say our goodbyes and I quickly mention Holly's party, which Erin is of course is planning on attending, as will Carl. I promise to call Erin tomorrow. While Mush is walking towards the door, I quickly lean across the seat and whisper, "Thanks a lot!" Erin gives me a thumbs up in return, and we say goodnight.


End file.
